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WALTER ALLEN RICE 



A National Paean 



Poems and Songs by 



WALTER ALLEN RICE 




BOSTON 
RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorham Press 
1904 



Copyright 1904 by Walter Allen Rice. 
All Rights Reserved 



LIBRARY Cf CONGRESS 
Two Copies Recelvud 

NOV 7 1904 

Coyyfiiiiii tiiuy 

CLASS A ^^c. Nu: 
COPY 6. 






Printed at 

The Gorham Press 

Boston, U. S. A. 



INTRODUCTION 

To the Public: 

iQi When the verses of "A National Paean" had been pub- 

lished and republished in a large number of the most in- 
fluential papers of our country, and appeared to be received 
with special favor, the idea vi^as suggested of giving these 
words a musical setting, and of presenting to the public 
a new national anthem. 

Inspired by this theme, and highly encouraged by kind 
words of John Phillip Sousa, the eminent young compos- 
er, F. D. Bloomfield, clothed the words with stirring and 
martial music, and "A National Paean" was published as 
a popular chorus song by "The National Paean Co." of 
Buffalo, New York. 

The song was introduced at the Pan American Exposi- 
tion, July 3d, 1 90 1, by Sousa's famous band. 

The author received many letters concerning the 
soog, from distinguished patriotic citizens, among them the 
following : 

President William McKinley. 
President Theodore Roosevelt. 
Ex-President Grover Cleveland. 
Senator William P. Frye. 
Senator H. C. Lodge. 
Senator Mark Hanna. 
Admiral George Dewey. 
Governor B. B. Odell, New York. 
Mayor Seth Low, New York City. 
President Arthur T. Hadley, of Yale. 
President William R. Harper, University of Chicago. 
Booker T. Washington, Principal Tuskegee Normal 
and Industrial Institute. 



To a mother's tender love and encouragement received 
in early life, when the author's impulses first turned 
toward literary work, and especially verse making, is due, 
more than to any other influence, whatever success has at- 
tended the productions of his pen. 

"Over my heart in the days that are flown 
No love like mother's love ever has shown, — 

No other worship abides and endures, 

Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours." 

The author takes this opportunity of thanking many ed- 
itors of newspapers, under whose auspices the verses con- 
tained in this volume have attained a wide circulation dur- 
ing the past twenty years. The kindness of editors, and 
many courtesies extended by the press, in all sections 
of the United States, are most sincerely appreciated. 

THE AUTHOR. 



A NATIONAL PAEAN 

POEMS AND SONGS 

INDEX 

Page. 

A National Paean 1 1 

The Student Refugee 12 

"The Fourth" ^5 

Mignonette ^^ 

Thrice Hail, the Hero! 17 

Reflection ^ ^ 

Mother ^9 

Oh, Welcome Robin 20 

Memorial Day 21 

To a Bouquet 22 

She Sleeps 23 

When The Stars 25 

Life 26 

Among the Flowers 27 

"Simply to Thy Cross I Cling" 28 

In Confidence 30 

On the Other Shore 31 

7, 



INDEX 

Page 

Sonnet to Longfellow 33 

Evening In Summer 34 

Little May 35 

Our Relations 36 

Fate 37 

Marie 38 

Christmas Fires 39 

Easter Day 40 

October (two sonnets) 41 

The Heart's Confession 42 

September 42 

A Harvest Home 43 

Under the Starlight 44 

Oliver Wendell Holmes 45 

The Ruined House 46 

An Autograph Album 48 

The Singer 49 

On The Brink 49 

Old Year, Farewell 50 

One Evening 53 

The Editor to the Poet 54 

8 



INDEX 

Page 

The Storm 55 

Only Her Cousin 5^ 

Mount Desert 57 

Bastigan Brook 5^ 

Eagle Light 6i 

On, Fraternal Soldiers 62 

Chide Her Not 63 

The Ship Fraternity 64 

A Phantom 65 

The Lovers' Leap 66 

At Midnight 67 

Love 68 

Sam to the General 69 

Innocence 70 

A Mother's Burden 71 

In Memoriam— F. A. P 12 

A Memory 73 

The Fashionable Flirt 74 

The Newsboy 75 

April 76 

"Had I But Known" 77 

9 



INDEX 

Page 

Goodby 78 

The New Star 79 

I Pledge to Thee Forever 80 

A Sylvan Scene 81 

At the Grave 82 

A Tribute to Grant 84 

Happiness 84 

Her Letter 85 

DelHe Meets Lucretia 86 

My Dog King 87 

In De Dreamland 89 

The Transitory 90 

Thirty Years Ago 91 

Queen of Aragon 92 

Thanksgiving Song 93 

Christmastide 94 



10 



ILLUSTRATIONS. 

The Author —Portrait Frontispiece 

Landing of The Pilgrims Facing Page 12 ^ 

Battle of Bunker Hill " " H ' 

Liberty Bell " " ^^ 

Admiral George Dewey, — Portrait " " 18 

Henry W. Longfellow, — Portrait " " 32 

Evening 34. 

Little May " " 36 ^ 

October " " 42 ^ 

Eagle Light " " 62 - 



A NATIONAL PAEAN 

Let us recall colonial days, 

When o'er the seas our fathers came ; 
Let all the people sing in praise 

Of those who kindled Freedom's flarne. 
How brave the hearts that risked their all 

To break the chains of tyranny ; 
What heroes they who led the call 

Through dangers dark to liberty. 

Behold amid the wilderness 

An altar reared, a flag unfurled, 
A nation's birth, ordained to bless, 

America, the new-found world! 
On shields of gold their names engrave, 

Their valiant deeds commemorate; 
Long live the flag our fathers gave! 

Beneath "Old Glory" celebrate. 

Though oft by mighty foes defied, 

Majestic moves our ship of state; 
Lo, Commerce comes across the tide 

To Eastern mart and Golden Gate. 
Our bounty doth the millions feed. 

While countless mill wheels swiftly turn 
And Labor wins her rightful meed 

Of all her willing hands may earn. 

Throughout our land of liberty 
To all men give their equal rights ; 

Then everywhere Prosperity 

Will shed her warm refulgent lights. 

The laws of man and laws of God 

Alike should bless both rich and poor; 



II 



Let Justice ply her chastening rod 
By palace gate or cottage door. 

Columbia ! the people's land, 

The happy land our fathers found ! 
Thy name adored from strand to strand, 

Thy fame extends the earth around. 
At Freedom's call thy heroes lead, 

Where Asia's glories o'er her play, 
'Neath Southern skies a black race freer 

Crowned victors at Manila Bay. 



THE STUDENT REFUGEE 

It may be rumor, nothing more. 
But thus the story comes to me, 

Like those weird tales in days of yore 
Of bloody deeds across the sea. 

A half a score of years have flown 

Since, in that quaint old German land, 

A maiden spake in true-love's tone. 
And to a student pledged her hand. 

But vows are words too often spoken 
When hearts cannot their import feel ; 

Vows are mere words that may be broken. 
When future hours the truth reveal. 

Months passed ; her lover had returned 
From a sojourn in sunny France, 

Where all the while his heart had yearned 
For one sweet word, one love-lit glance. 



12 




,^ o 



-r; 



The welcome cold, the down-cast eyes, 
Disclosed a smold'ring, dying flame; 

Words could not paint his mad surprise 
When gossip linked another's name. 

Convinced at last she was untrue, 

That his deep love had been betrayed, 

Revenge he swore should help undo 

The wrong, through his own trusty blade. 

The challenge sent was bravely met, 
Against the law of that old land ; 

And at the hour that had been set 

These two stood facing, sword in hand. 

Within the forest's shadows deep 
The combatants and seconds stood. 

Whose low words scarcely broke the sleep 
That long had wrapped that silent wood. 

The signal came — for one 'twas death — 
The fight was fiercely then begun ; 

The seconds hushed their very breath. 
Till this mad scene at length was done. 

The lover's sword was crimson dyed : 
Revenge he'd gained, his foe lay dead ; 

But his own country's laws defied 
Now set a price upon his head. 

A fugitive from native land, 

An exile from his love and home, 

He sought Atlantic's rocky strand. 
For years thus doomed to sadly roam. 



13 



Among New Hampshire's mountains lies 

The peaceful rural city, Keene, 
Above which bend auspicious skies 

From yonder peaks to village greea. 

But fifteen miles, by winding road, 
Brings one to silvered Surry Mine, 

Whose darksome depths are men's abode 
From dawn of day till its decline. 

There's one a-toiling far below 

Who speaks the quaint old German tongue. 
Whose face betrays an inward woe. 

And seems at times by anguish wrung. 

At eve he strolls the mountain height, 

While over Keene the moon smiles down, 

And paints, in fancy's distant flight 
A face, and tresses dusky brown. 

His low words, full of sad despair, 

Tell of a love across the sea; 
Tell of revenge accomplished there — 

Mark him the student refugee. 



14 




PQ 






"THE FOURTH" 

O Nation! thy own festive day 

Begins ere yet night shades have fled ; 
Hear! hear the guns! near and away; 

Behold the East in blazing red. 
From hills of Maine to Georgia's strand, 

From the Atlantic's surging sea 
To the Pacific, o'er the land 

Awakes the nation of the free. 

To-day life's struggles all forget; 

In one grand jubilee unite, 
And guide the gleaming sun to set 

With pealing bells on every height. 
So echo meeting echo blends 

In wondrous symphony of sound, 
Till every town and city sends 

Its joy the country's borders 'round. 

O Freedom ! this belongs to thee ; 

For thee these starry banners wave 
All o'er the land from sea to sea — 

For thee the martyred soldier's grave 
So boom the cannon ! Peal the bells ! 

Commemorate her glorious sway, 
Till heaven shall hear the news it tells 

And bless our nation's natal day. 



15 



MIGNONETTE 

I dreamed a dream. Lo! I was sent to bring 

The sweetest flower that grows, 
And fairy-like I sped on tireless wing 

Where Flora richest blows, 
Beneath the Southland's sunny skies 
Where dazzling beauty never dies. 

I tarried long amid its gorgeous bloom, 

Distracted half in thought, 
For surely here must be that rare perfume 

That other lands know not. 
Oh, never were such rainbow hues 
So sweetly kissed by morning dews! 

But while my choice delayed, from far away 

There fluttering, trembling came 
A Northland fragrance loved in boyhood's day, 

And breathing low its name, 
Methought, "Why should I farther roam ? 
My choice is at my Northern home." 

But still upon this happy mission bound, 

On fairy's wings I sped 
Across dividing seas till soon I found 

Italian skies o'erhead. 
And here the brilliant stranger charms 
Half chained me in their rosy arms. 

Again the spell was broken, and in flight 

I crossed the Orient land. 
With wondrous blossoms beautifully bright; 

Then o'er Sahara's sand 
To Afric's flowery tropic wild, 
By man unknown, and undefiled. 

i6 




LIBERTY BELL, PHJLADELPHLA 



How proudly ! Oh, how swiftly then I flew 

Back to my Northland hills, 
To name the sweetest flower that ever grew; 

O'er oceans, streams and rills 
I sought my choice, in boyhood met, 
Earth's sweetest blossom — Mignonette. 



THRICE HAIL, THE HERO! 

Welcome to Admiral Dewey on the day of his arrival in 
N. Y. City, Sept. 27, 1899- 

As when the ancient Greeks did celebrate 

Olympic games and with each other vie 

In tests of strength, or in the races fly. 
The victor, laurel-crowned, returned in state ; 
So sailed away to meet the guns of Spain 

A tiny squadron 'neath the Stripes and Stars; 

Behind the guns the followers of Mars, 
And on the bridge the hero of the main. 
How rudely Spain was wakened from her sleep 

Has oft been told since that bright morn in May; 
That daring deed, the wonder of the deep, 

To Peace will lead the nations of our day, 
And lasting fame his name will ever keep — 

Thrice hail the hero of Manila Bay! 



17 



REFLECTION 

To-day against the crags is breaking, 

The sea with madness rife ; 
The tyrant storm-king's wand awak'ning 

The elements in strife, 
And luckless vessels harbor making 

Portray the thing called life. 

I traced a mountain spring swift flowing 

Far down the rugged height, 
As gathering strength by onward going 

A torrent dashed in flight ; 
In thunder tones its lesson showing — 

"Toil wears a crown of might!" 

The early sunlight on me streaming 

Awaked me just at morn : 
And as I saw it half a-dreaming, 

Between the curtains drawn, 
I said, "So Fame's bright glory beaming 

Lights Hope's triumphal dawn." 

I stood upon the hill-top, thinking, 
Face turning towards the west ; 

Then from my sight the sun was sinking 
From skies in crimson dressed ; 

And as the stars o'erhead came twinkling, 
I said, "Ah, this is rest!" 

Yet all these glories playing 'round me, 
The sea from strand to strand. 

And every golden chain that bound me, 
The myriad scenes of land, — 

Ay ! e'en the fate that somehow found me, 
Proclaim God's wondrous hand ! 

1 8 




ADMIRAL GEO. DEWEY 



MOTHER 

Friend, cease your labor, drop the book or pen, 

And through the time-blurred past, to days of yore 
Return in thought. Unlatch the cottage door. 

And step within yourself a youth again ; 

Retrace the shad'wy aisles of bygone years — 

Through which you've climbed the rugged heights of 

fame, 
Forgetting all things in a transient name — 

To childhood's home. Your eyes are filled with tears, 

That have not coursed your cheeks since that good-by, 
When gray-haired mother, with deep grief, yet pride, 
Saw you depart on manhood's ocean wide. 

And sever thus life's truest, fondest tie. 

When palsied memory recalls no other, 

'Twill thrill with youthful fire and whisper "Mother." 



OH, WELCOME, ROBIN 

Oh, welcome, red-breast! Welcome robin! 

Your sweetest, strongest numbers, utter; 
Among the blossoms in our orchard 

Take up your quarters, sing and flutter. 

My heart was sore that cold fall morning 

When first I knew you had departed ; 
So fierce my longing to go with you 

To sunny climes, I almost started ; 
Yet in my fancy I beheld you. 

While here my weary burdens bound me, 
The perfumed orange groves enjoying; 

I here, the snow-king's fetters 'round me. 



1.9 



Throughout the icy, freezing winter, 

As winds rushed by the corner, sighing, 
I often, often, used to ask me, 

"Is that my robin out there crying?" 
I feared, perchance, you may have wandered- 

Have wandered in this blinding weather; 
And at your old-time home sought shelter. 

Clad only in your coat of feather. 

When we discovered you last summer, 

Preparing to stay through the season, 
We wondered why we lingered single — 

That's Will and I — and asked the reason. 
But I could only flush and tremble. 

While you, dear robin, seemed replying: 
"Go build your nest ; like me be happy. 

And nevermore sit sighing, sighing." 

So while you have been gone, robin, 

And in your orange groves been tarrying, 
And while we've longed so oft to see you. 

We have been building and — a-marrying. 
Again has come the golden summer. 

With you, dear robin, and the flowers; 
Among the fragrant apple blossoms 

Your nest is hid 'mid fairy bowers. 

So welcome, redbreast ! Welcome, robin ! 

Your sweetest, strongest numbers utter; 
Among the blossoms in our orchard 

Take up your quarters, sing and flutter ! 



20 



MEMORIAL DAY 

Again we seem to hear that signal gun 

When traitors dared assail our Nation's life; 

Again we tell of battles lost and won, 
Recall the annals of that bloody strife. 

Again they fall in line, the boys in blue. 

And up the street in marching order come ; 

Again we think of days when brave and true 
A host went forth marshaled by fife and drum. 

The stirring strains of "Yankee Doodle" then 
Inspired all hearts for right and liberty ; 

Beneath Old Glory's folds our gallant men 
Treason o'ercame and crowned with victory. 

Those awful days we never can forget, 

When happy homes were made a sacrifice; 

To broken hearts our country owes a debt 
That gold can ne'er repay at any price. 

Husbands and wives then parted ne'er to meet, 
Mothers and sons then kissed a last goodby ; 

Sweethearts' fond vows the last time did repeat, 
So marched our boys to hostile fields to die. 

But white-robed Peace at length assumed her sway 
While from the carnage and the wreck of strife 

Emerged the heroes of Memorial Day, 
War-worn defenders of our Nation's life. 

This day unto the dead we consecrate, 

And living heroes honor now the dead ; 
Our garlands are for those who met their fate 

While following on where Freedom's banners led. 



21 



"My Country, 'Tis of Thee" we sing again! 

We sing of those who gave their all for thee, 
Of that Grand Army of immortal men 

Who made thee and thy children ever free. 



TO A BOUQUET 

My little world of bliss, so sweetly fair! 

If 'mid thy bloom and fragrance I could dwell 
I'd hie with thee to some delightful dell, 

Contented thus to live forever there; 

But if the giver of each beauteous flower 
Who thus confessed in floral billet-doux. 
To those fond vows will constantly be true. 

Then life will be a heaven, one blissful hour. 

This od'rous heliotrope and blushing rose. 
This trailing vine, and bud of golden hue 
Hold secrets dear; but loveliest to view 

This rose with petals pure as driven snows. 

By thee, white rose, I swear to constant be 

Till she no longer says, "My heart is free." 



SHE SLEEPS 
"Full many a flower is born to blush unseen." 

The last hoarse gales of winter roared around 

The low stained eaves of that small cottage home, 

And deeply lay the snow upon the ground. 

When o'er them gathered fast a darksome gloam. 

The shadow o'er the well-worn threshold steals. 
Upon a mother's cheek it leaves its kiss; 

While each dumb heart, save hers, its presence feels, 
And whispers low in terror, "What is this?" 

22 



The little ones oft lingered by the bed, 

As there she fondly smoothed their golden hair; 
And e'en their little hearts seemed touched with dread, 

And wondered why their mother dear lay there. 

'Twas thus she spake with fearless, hopeful heart 
Of how that wintry scene would pass away ; 

Nor did she dream, when erst it did depart, 

That o'er her form would bloom the flowers gay. 

"Yes, Lulu, when the summer comes again, 
And all these snow-fields melt away from sight, 

When bright and balmy June has come again, 
We'll roam the fields from early morn till night. 

"Yes, when the trees are clad in richest green 
And birds sing sweetly near our cottage door, 

When summer seems to lend its golden sheen, 
And flowers send their fragrance to our door ; 

"When all about us is one waving sea 

Of thriving grain, we'll pick the berries then 

That nestle 'mid the buttercups, and we 
Shall be so gay when summer comes again. 

"How bright the sun will shine, and 'neath the shade 
Of yonder aged elm I'll watch you swing; 

And when the daylight has begun to fade 

We'll gather on the steps, and all will sing." 

******** 

Amid the brightest fancies, rainbow-hued. 

The spirit clung to its poor tenement ; 
Although with thorns her path was thickly strewed, 

She'd fain with this poor lot remain content. 



23 



Yet feebler, fainter, dimmer grows the light, 
And still the shudd'ring spirit closely clings; 

But yesterday it could not stay its flight. 

To-day among the white-robed throng she sings. 

Oh, Death ! you've robbed a loving heart of all 

That smooths the way thro' this sad vale of tears; 

Oh, Death, beneath thine awful, silent pall 
You've stilled a loving heart from all its fears. 

Oh, Death ! two little ones will call in vain 
For mother's loving words and warm embrace ; 

Two little ones will miss the sweet refrain, 
Will miss forevermore a mother's face. 

Yes, when the summer comes again, and flowers 
Bloom sweetly 'round the door, when all is gay 

Some hearts will bear a grief no summer hours 
Of richest bloom can ever charm away. 

The cold, unfeeling world will mark it not. 
And few will know where is her burial place ; 

Fame recognizes not so poor a lot. 

And yet her virtues Time can ne'er efface. 

She sleeps! from o'er her life the mists have fled ; 

She sleeps in peace where flowers eternal bloom! 
She sleeps — think not of her as with the dead ! 

She sleeps, yet not within the silent tomb. 



24 



WHEN THE STARS 

When the stars are merry twinkling 
Through the windows of the night, 

And the moon in radiant glory 
Walks alone her azure height, 

It recalls a face I've known 

When I wandered not alone. 

It reminds me of a sorrow 
That the stars can never still ; 

Of a heart bereft and broken, 
That no other voice can thrill. 

Oft I strive with longing eyes, 

For a glimpse beyond the skies. 

There methinks in regal beauty 
She looks down each starry night. 

Standing by the gates of jasper, 
In her robes of snowy white : 

Fancy only it may be. . . . 

Yet a truth it seems to me. 

When around me falls the evening, 
With its tranquil veil of rest. 

And the voice I loved is silent, 

Sealed the lips my own have pressed, 

In the shadows sadly drear, 

Down my cheeks oft rolls a tear. 

When the stars shall cease to glitter 
In Night's deep cerulean crown, 

When the moon puts off her splendor, 
And no more on earth looks down, 

Then will I forget that face, — 

From my heart this love erase. 



25 



LIFE 

Budding, blooming, dying, 

Morning, noon and night; 
Pleasure soon is sighing, 

Time puts out the light; 
Beauty's swiftly fleeing, 

Youth is lost in age; 
Things that are now being, 

Are for history's page. 

Hopes so like the flowers. 

Beautiful and sweet, 
Cheering summer hours. 

But, alas, how fleet ! 
Wintry gales are blowing. 

Dead the flowers lie; 
Hopes are feebler growing 

'Neath the leaden sky. 

Laughing, musing, weeping. 

Each succeeds in turn ; 
Each is in our keeping, 

All too soon we learn ; 
Weeping, musing, laughing, 

Life is only this ; 
Tears we're surely quaffing 

From the cup of bliss. 

When our hopes are failing, 
When our lives are spent. 

When we are bewailing 
Fates so discontent; 

If we can discover 
In the dim beyond. 



26 



Light that seems to hover 
O'er the Christian's wand, — 

Shadows may be lifted, 

And the spirit roam, 
When the scenes have shifted, 

In a cloudless home, — 
Where there is no dying, 

Morning, noon or night. 
Pleasure never sighing. 

But "eternal" light. 



AMONG THE FLOWERS 

The woodbine climbs the arbor o'er. 
Its tendrils clinging to the walls. 
And forming fairy garden halls: 

The roses richly bloom once more, 
And 'mid the white ones 'gain I see 
A face, and hear "my heart is free." 

Her slender hand had plucked the rose, 
And bade me trust the tale it told : 
But when the pansies did unfold, 

They seemed to wondrously disclose 

That in our lives a thought had grown — 
"This must be love that comes unknown." 

How shall I e'er forget that hour. 

When o'er us arched the smiling skies ! 
Forget that blush, those downcast eyes; 

Forget the pink — O queenly flower! — 
The pink that breathed, in tend'rest tone, 
"My love for you I thus will own." 



27 



The heliotrope and ivy, too, 

Last year first spake their mystic tongue, 
And I their numbers softly sung, 

Till jonquils fanned the flame anew. 
Now phlox we love in our bouquets, 
While swiftly glide the summer days. 



Beneath the touch of winter's hand 
The blossoms' rosy lips were sealed ; 
Yet each sweet thought they had revealed 

Wove round our hearts a golden band. 
That through the fleeting years will shine 
As both our pathways intertwine. 



"SIMPLY TO THY CROSS I CLING" 

Step with me across the threshold 
Of the mansion where we dwell ; 

Heed thou not the costly pictures 
Or the works where arts excel ; 

Turn from all unto this motto 
While its wondrous worth I tell. 

Long ago our pathways severed, 

Far apart our journeys led ; 
Longing thoughts could not but wonder — 

Were she living? Were she dead? 
Till the silence gave this token, 

Mystic token you have read. 

And these words in silence uttered. 
Words that burdened mortals sing, 

Unto me hath deeper meaning. 
Tender memories they bring, 

28 



Till each heart-string seems to vibrate — 
"Simply to Thy cross I cling." 

Cold and still the skillful fingers 

That once traced these symbols fair; 

Long since knocked they at the portals 
Leading up the golden stair, 

Leaving here earth's dearest treasures 
For the joys the blessed share. 

When the winds without are raging, 
Drifting high the pearly snow. 

Silently I watch the flicker 
Of the fire light's genial glow, 

While the shadows form a picture 
Of the face I used to know. 

With our choicest cherished portraits, 

Is its consecrated place, 
Where the red of summer's sunset 

Clasps it in its warm embrace, 
Where the perfume of June roses 

Seems to lend it lovelier grace. 

Where I go this guardian presence 

Follows on its silent wing. 
O'er me casts its benediction ; 

From despair withdraws its sting; 
And I breathe in fervent prayer, 

"Simply to Thy cross I cling." 



29 



IN CONFIDENCE 

The surf broke gently at their feet, 
And she was looking toward the sea, 

As though her heart much slower beat. 
"How quickly summer goes!" — said he — 

"When office work is left behind. 

And by the sea such friends we find." 

"This season has peculiar charms" — 
She answered gazing far away — 

"For nature somehow sweetly calms 
The restless spirit." "But to-day," 

He interrupted — "ere I go, 

I've something you may like to know." 

Expectantly the dark eyes fell, 

"Oh yes," she laughed, "I'll gladly hear 
All — any news you wish to tell." 

"There's one I've learned to just revere," 
Continued he, "I ne'er could guess 
If she would answer no, or yes." 

"He only who will test his fate 

Deserves the prize he fain would own." 

"But Maud — Miss Clairmont — let me state. 
The truth I now have sometime known." 

"You have!" confused she cried, "who, who, 

Has thus disclosed my thoughts to you?" 

"No one; your thoughts I do not know; 

I trust they're happy as are mine. 
For there'll go with me when I go 

A promise that is just divine." 
"I'm glad" — she said — "of your success; 
But her — her name ! may I but guess ?" 



30 



"Why Maud" — he cried — "there is but one, 
You surely — surely know her name! 

But one sweet face beneath the sun!" 
"Oh, Dick! is she and I the same?" 

"Why no! we are but friends," — he cried — 

Viola is my promised bride." 



ON THE OTHER SHORE 

Written from a pathetic account by a Methodist preach- 
er of how his little loved ones have been called to the "oth- 
er shore." 

Yes, a pleasant home, I'm sure, 

Is my wife's and mine; 
Few the storms that we endure 

Through His grace divine. 
We have all that money brings. 

Though our purse be small, 
Yet there are some precious things 

Gone from room and hall ; 
Gone from us while here we stay, 

Sailing life's sea o'er. 
To that "brighter, better day" 

On the other shore. 

You ne'er saw them, and know not 

How we loved those two, — 
Willie, with inquiring thought. 

And great eyes of blue: 
Only seven years old was he, 

Full of promise bright, — 
All the day I miss his glee, 

And his sweet "good-night:" 
God's will, and not mine, be done; 

31 



Still I'll watch the door, 
Till I greet my little son 
On the other shore. 

That was grief enough to bear, 

Till the shadow fell 
On our May's soft golden hair. 

With its blighting spell; 
Oh, if hearts did ever bleed. 

How ached wife's and mine ! 
Was this deep, heart-rending meed 

From His hand divine? 
Through the darkness of our woe, 

'Bove the tempest's roar. 
Answers back a voice we know 

From the other shore. 

For three summers, short and sweet, 

Bloomed our little May; 
Oft I hear her patt'ring feet 

Of that by-gone day ; 
And I close my weary eyes 

On the world around, 
Thinking that beyond the skies 

Woe is never found ; 
But that rest from ceaseless pain, 

Balm for hearts so sore, — 
Meeting, ne'er to part again. 

On the other shore. 

Yes, they're gone, but there's a day, 

In the by-and-by, 
"When the mists have rolled away," 

We shall meet on high ; 
We shall see them robed in white, 

Willie and our May ; 

32 







HENRY W. LONGFELLOW 



They will know us in the light 

Of that "better day," 
When we've left this world behind. 

To return no more, 
Loved ones lost we there shall find, 

On the other shore. 



A SONNET TO LONGFELLOW 

As students of the heavens start apace, 

W^hen the far-reaching eye some stranger star 
Detects, softly approaching from afar. 

And through the infinite space its course doth trace; 

As out of Darkness trembling into view. 

It makes its being known, while wonder chains 
The world below, yet on with freer reins 

It glides among the starry host to woo 

All hearts by its own sparkling, nameless light, — 
So came this poet with his gifted pen. 
And paved his way unto the hearts of men, — 

A dazzling star from out the realms of Night. 

Many the idols here we love and know, 

And yet no name like that of Longfellow. 



33 



EVENING IN SUMMER 

When Titan reins his fiery steeds at last, 
O'er seas of flame and gorgeous fleecy isles, 

His red-plumed helmet then is proudly cast 

At Evening's feet, whose face is wreathed in smiles. 

When she has closed the golden doors of day, 
I love to hear her garments' rustling sound ; 

To feel her eyes meet mine, then turn away. 
While yet her presence seems to linger 'round. 

How tenderly she wafts the cooling breeze 
O'er city thronged and pleasure's calm retreat, 

Where weary mortals seek a moment's ease 
And greet her coming as a respite sweet. 

As 'bove the couch some gentle mother bends 
And smooths with loving touch the coverlet. 

So Evening, with her spangled spread descends, 
And folds away each burden of regret. 

When each long sultry day doth reach its close. 
And fragrant is the air with new mown hay. 

How softly down the insects' murmur flows. 
And blissful quiet steals along the way. 

So silently the wondrous change transpires, 
We cannot mark the time when crimson light 

Of sunset fades to blue, or when the fires 
Of evening first come twinkling into sight. 

How heaven and earth now clasp each other's hands, 
And angels' footfalls we can almost hear ; 

Our weary feet now press the jasper sands, 

And through the mists, celestial heights appear. 




z 

> 



Ah, now the struggling spirit rends its chains, 
And tears the lash from labor's tyrant hand, 

And upward soaring to its native plains. 
In freedom walks the bright Elysian strand. 



LITTLE MAY 

Could you see the little thing. 
Such a fairy, flitting, dancing, 
Here and there, like sunbeams glancing, 
You would know how I can sing 
With a fancy swiftly whirling 
As I lift the locks a-curling 
In their wanton grace 
'Round the laughing face. 

What if she awakes us all. 

Ere the morning light is creeping 
O'er the sky, with baby weeping, 
Calling for her oldest doll ! 
Just to see the eyelids flutter 
Peacefully, as low we utter 
Soothing words, repays 
Broken nights and days. 

All the day those little feet 
Tireless carry devastation. 
And we suffer this invasion 
Till night's shadows call retreat: 
Then upon my knee a-climbing, 
All her infant notes a-chiming, 
To my heart I press 
Every golden tress. 



35 



Baby, dear beyond compare! 

While o'er life's wide sea we're sailing, 
When our brightest hopes are failing, 
Love for thee dispels dark care ! 
With thy puny hand, unknowing 
Thou art guiding as we're rowing 
O'er the surging tide 
To the other side. 



OUR RELATIONS 

"Such imposition, John, I say; 

A letter by this morning's mail 
Informs us that your sister May 

To-night will come to Sunnydale, 
With us to spend a month or two, 

And we'll no doubt rejoice to meet 
Our niece and nephew, Ralph and Lu, 

Down by the sea at our retreat. 

"Is that imposing, John or not ? 

^ Yes, just five years, and only five, 
Since she had all that money bought 

And we could scarcely keep alive ; 
And when she might have helped you through 

That time, and I was sick abed. 
And we'd be turned right out she knew, 

She wouldn't lend a single red. 

"Her poor relations way down East ! 

Why she'd not heard from them for years ; 
They'd no pretense to style at least,— ^ 

And now, the fraud! has called us 'dears'; 
Now what's the difference ? tell me John ! 

The news had not been out a week ! 

36 




LITTLE MAY 



How we awoke so rich that morn, 

Before we heard from Madame Cheek. 

"I tell you, John, relation's ties 

Are worse to bear than — than — a man, 
For they are living heartless lies 

I never loved and never can ; 
I'm glad her riches went on wings. 

For now she'll know how well it seems 
To take her rank 'mong common things. 

And leave behind her de la cremes. 



"Oh, sister May, how do you do! 

You're looking fresh as sweet sixteen, — 
And Lulu has your eyes of blue, 

And Ralph — his equal's rarely seen ; 
Of course you'll stay all summer long! 

I know we'll like each other so : — 
And we have here the gayest throng. 

And John is just the nicest beau !" 



FATE 

"There's a divinity that shapes our ends 
Rough-hew them how we will." — Act V., Hamlet. 

Alas! I raised my castle on the sand 

That shifts and shifts with each returning tide; 

Its architecture wrought with zealous pride 
Methought would chain in wonder ev'ry land. 
My fancy reared it there upon the strand. 

While far its tow'ring domes might be descried 

In glitt'ring golden sunshine richly dyed, — 
And there my glorious work would ever stand. 



37 



'Twas but ambition's vision, yet my soul 
I would have staked on its accomplishment. 

Lo! as I paint in dream my life's great goal, 
Upon my castle, in mad fury blent. 

Fate's crushing billows mercilessly roll. 

Crumbling in ruins Hope's grand monument. 



MARIE 

I came about the last of June, 

On board the steamer Ocean Queen, 
And landed in the heat of noon. 

Amid a charming island scene. 
No violet eyes all bathed in dew 

Had watched me vanish from their sight; 
No ruby lips breathed low, "Be true," 

No loving arms had clasped me tight. 

I was heart-whole ; I smoked and strolled 

For hours adown the pebbly strand. 
And wondered what the sea nymphs told, 

And traced my name upon the sand; 
At evening hops, and parties, too. 

At musicales and moonlight sails, 
I always had a part to do, 

And won renown at telling tales. 

I stood the siege of scores of eyes, 

Eyes hazel, violet, black and gray. 
And lips of richest cherry dyes. 

And lent to slender waists a stay. 
But yet my destiny was there. 

And while I deemed myself secure, 
Coquettish smiles and dusky hair 

Had brought my heart a captive to her. 

38 



I came heart-whole, but when I went, 

A dozen keepsakes, more or less, 
Betrayed my heart's predicament. 

That I myself could hardly guess. 
There was a bow of baby blue. 

That once had graced her slender throat 
It meant, she told me, "Ever true," 

And here's her first (to me) love-note. 

Ah, many are the lances crossed 

In summer by the ocean's side, 
And some have won and some have lost, 

Some curse the fates they vainly tried. 
A victor now I'm homeward bound. 

Across the heaving, restless sea; 
As best of all my trophies found. 

Let me present my wife, Marie. 



CHRISTMAS FIRES 

When bright Christmas fires are glowin;.' 

And the fields are white with snow, 
Down beside the fair Penobscot 

There comes back the long ago. 
From Bohemia's gilded castles 

Do I longing flee again 
To the bygone dreams of boyhood 

'Mid the pine-clad hills of Maine. 

In the Northland by the river, 
'Mong the vales of evergreen, 

Santa Claus knew anxious children 
Watched his coming on the scene. 

In Aroostook found his deer-teams, 
Ere the hunters had them slain; 



39 



Robed in bear-skins swift he drove them 

Through the sleep-wrapped towns of Maine. 

How we children watched the chimney, 

Till our eyes closed fast in sleep; 
How we waited, watched his coming. 

But we never got a peep. 
How we shouted in the morning 

"Merry Christmas!" sweet refrain, 
As we emptied all our stockings. 

Filled by Santa Claus of Maine. 

Oh, the joys and toys of Christmas 

In that home of olden time! 
By the great log fires a-glowing 

I can hear the voices chime: — 
Father's, mother's, sister's, brother's, 

Reunited once again ; 
Oh, the turkey, pies and puddings, 

Served on Christmas up in Maine. 

EASTER DAY 

Far o'er the land, in ever>' clime. 

Where fields with golden harvests glow, 
Or earth lies mantled 'neath the snow, 

Loud ring the bells in joyous chime; 
While heartfelt anthems greet the dawn 
Of this the gladsome Easter morn. 

On land and sea, in wilderness, 

On lonely isles where truth has reached. 
Where'er the sacred Word is preached, 

Glad hearts to-day pray God to bless; 
While o'er the hills of time appears 
The Easter of eternal years. 

40 



OCTOBER 

The bell has tinkled ! as the curtains rise 
How lightly dances in our autumn queen, 
Whose magic wand evokes a wondcous scene 

To our applauding rapture and surprise. 

She trips across the harvest-burdened land, 
And lo ! the fields again are bare and brown ! 
She lays aside the woodland's emerald crown. 

While troops of lovely nymphs at her command 

Bring forth gay robes of changeful, dazzling hue. 
Brown, russet, crimson shading into gold. 
Till all the orient scene has been unrolled, 

And she, with laughing eyes, bows her adieu ; 

Then, gaily turning from outstretching hands 

She flits away to brighten other lands. 



October! Why do I this month adore? 

I'll tell thee, friend. The years have not been long^ 
Nor have I yet forgot that husking song. 

And full moon shining through the old barn door. 

A merry throng laid bare the golden ears. 

While jest and laughter kept the night awake. 
And forfeits not a few we had to take ; 

But under all I bore a world of fears — 

That night I meant to know! Was I to blame? 
I thought the time would never come to end, 
But when 'twas done, and home we 'gan to wend, 

The fire hid in my heart broke into flame; 

And though to her 'twas somewhat of a fright, 
She's been my wife for five Octobers bright. 



41 



THE HEART'S CONFESSION 

Ne'er subject bowed before the royal throne 
More proudly than do I acknowledge thee 
Queen of my heart that ever hath been free 
Till thy resistless love made it thine own. 
Whether the splendor of thine eyes alone 

Conjured the spell, or all thy charms combined, 
Swaying at thy sweet will the unwilling mind, 
Bound me in fetters I had never known, — 
I cannot tell. But since that hour supreme, 
My being's thrilled anew with nobler aim. 
And passing fancies that we idly dream 
Became, at thought of honoring thy name. 
Grand aspirations whose bright glories seem 
To light the pathway up the heights of fame. 

SEPTEMBER 

'Tis now we miss the blossoms of the spring, 
The violets that dotted vale and hill. 
The welcome notes of robin, clear and shrill. 

The myriad beauties summer's fairies bring. 

But yesterday the ploughman broke the sod. 
And cast his seed, and dreamed of golden grain, 
While fashion's circles gaily planned again. 

For conquests new in sunny lands abroad. 

Today those dreams are o'er, and almost through; 
We turn the closing leaves with tenderness. 
For there alike regret and happiness, 

Commingled blot the page for me and you. 

And so the season's cycles vanish by. 

The seed-time, harvest and September sky. 

42 



o 

o 
n 
H 

o 

w 

w 




i 



A HARVEST HOME 

New England's fruitful hills and vale?, 
Now basking 'neath September's skies, 
Seemed never decked in fairer guise, 

Or fanned by gentler western gales. 

Lo ! through the great barns' spacious doors 
Sweet od'rous hay in massive mows ; 
Without the orchards' bending boughs, 

Deep laden with delicious stores. 

And yonder, in quaint, rural dress, 

The jovial hands, with movements fleet, 
Bind up the yellow sheaves of wheat. 

Rich emblems of our thriftiness. 

The threshers' clattering machine 
Now wakes the country solitudes. 
While 'round about, in merry moods, 

The neighbors gather on the scene. 

Oh, merry days of harvesting 

The orchards' fruits and golden grains ! 

O'er valleys, hills and Western plains 
Thankgiving anthems joyous ring. 

Ye benefactors of our race ! 

Ye sun-browned tillers of the land! 

Each year, within thine iron hand. 
The nation's weal or woe we trace. 

In faith and hope your duty done 
Long months ago, the rest consigned 
To God, whose favors, wondrous kind, 

Completed what ye had begun. 



43 



Benignly bend September skies 

Through all the days of harvest time! 
While moon and stars each eve do climb 

Your hights to light fond lovers' eyes. 



UNDER THE STARLIGHT 

When the shadows of the evening 

Called the village folks from labor, 
And the heavenly tapers twinkled 

While good neighbor talked with neighbor, 
Up the street with maples shaded 

Came two figures slowly walking, 
Happy in each other's presence, — 

Stars alone could hear them talking. 

Wed are they; a little cottage, 

Trees and vines it half concealing, 
Peeps out through its leafy arbors. 

Blissful glimpses half revealing; 
On the steps two figures sitting 

Through the twilight hour so fleeting; 
Hand in hand is fondly resting. 

Heart for heart is truly beating. 

Time his snow has deeply sprinkled 

On that maiden's dusky tresses ; 
How devotion through life's journey 

Brings reward that richly blesses! 
Bowed with age and worn and wrinkled, 

With their children gathered near them, 
On the steps in Summer's twilight 

Stars still twinkle bright to hear them. 



44 



Evening shadows 'gain are falling, 

But those loving hearts are sleeping 
In the still and silent valley 

Where the flowers are vigils keeping; 
Sailing down life's mazy river, 

Through its shadow and its glory. 
They are resting 'neath the starlight 

That has lighted all the story. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 

The last leaf now has fallen, and to-day 
Nations are grieving by thy resting place, 
As if an honored son of every race. 

Endeared by valiant deeds, were laid away. 

Dear Autocrat — o'er human hearts thy sway 
Was won by genius and consummate grace. 
By sparkling wit and sunshine of thy face, 

Nor age could dull thy throbbing pulse of May. 

That wondrous lyre is still. . . .O Muses, weep! 

For all its tuneful strings are snapped in twain : 
Ay, one by one, unto the Vale of Sleep, 

Our bards, upon the wings of sweet refrain. 
Have passed before, that endless watch to keep, 

Till now, "the last leaf" falls — all meet again. 



45 



THE RUINED HOUSE 

Beside a country road that slowly winds its narrow way 
Adown and up the many hills, one sees this very day 
An old, unpainted, ruined house, sad relic of days gone; 
Yet there, beneath the blighting hand of time, it stands 

forlorn, 
While the bleak winds of autumn whistle through the 

broken pane. 
And loudly patters on the roof the ever-dreary rain. 

But threescore years have passed since there, within the 
forest's shade, 

A worthy couple came in sturdy strength alone arrayed. 

Persistent labor won its due reward ; a few brief years. 

And 'mid the fields, where waves the golden grain, hum- 
bly uprears 

The new and happy home, unfitted with our modern 
things. 

Yet holding richer blessings than the palaces of kings. 

Three daughters and two sons within the course of time 
thus blessed 

The home and Peace in spotless robes was e'er their con- 
stant guest; 

Near yonder path, so long untrod save by a stranger's feet, 

These children played and grew in years within this fair 
retreat ; 

And there, where weeds and roses now in wild profusion 
grow. 

Forget-me-nots and pinks and pansies used to gayly blow. 

Beneath those elms, where once a gate gave entrance to the 

place 
A lover oft looked down upon a maiden's upturned face, 
While o'er them both the moonbeams shed a silvery sheen 

of glory, 

46 



And brightly twinkled little stars that heard the old, old 
story ; 

And as they looked away that night o'er life's calm, sleep- 
ing tide, 

They only saw the moonlit ripples dancing far and wide. 

They launched their boat; away they glided down the 

placid tide, 
And vanished then, from parent's view, the lover and his 

bride. 
Ambition called the other four afar from home and friends, 
To fill positions honored much, and work out worthy ends. 
The parents, bowed beneath the weight of years, found 

rest at last; 
But here the picture blurs and fades away into the past. 

The sounds of industry were hushed, and through the 
long, long year. 

That house of yore so full of life, stood silent, dark and 
drear ; 

The seasons rapidly have come and gone in noiseless flight, 

While with each visit faded fast the beautiful from sight. 

No stranger entered through the gate, or crossed the thres- 
hold old. 

And none can tell the memories that ruined house may 
hold. 

Now desolation sadly marks that once delightful scene ; 
No more the children romp in sport about the velvet 

green ! 
No more with hopes for future years do manly hearts beat 

high ; 
No more do lovers breathe their vows beneath the starry 

sky. 
No more! No more! At rest are they, Vvhile only what 

they did 
Remains from mem'ry's dim abode to lift the heavy lid. 

47 



AN AUTOGRAPH ALBUM 

Pure, spotless page, I pause and think 
Ere I have marred thy face, 

What is the mystic golden link 
Assigning me this place ? 

My veins tell not of royal birth, 

Unskilled in art my pen ; 
No laurels won of wondrous worth — 

Why trace my name here, then ? 

I'm sure that all who chance to read 

My straggling autograph, 
Will turn it o'er with little heed, 

Or, maybe, with a laugh. 

Yet I care not, so long as she 
With eyes of heaven's own blue, 

Will read the name fate gave to me 
And whisper, "I'll be true." 

Oh, spotless page, 'tis that assigns 
My homely name to thee — 

Within her heart, pray God, she finds 
As pure a place for me. 

And if she does, I trust, by Grace, 

To linger there long after 
This written line no one can trace 

Nor serve for others' laughter. 



48 



THE SINGER 

The pews were filled with worshipers — a throng; 

The preacher's topic "Love" — 'twas love divine, 

Of course; but I could scarcely draw the line, 
As from the singer's lips poured forth the song, 
"Nearer to Thee!" .... It may have been quite wrong 

For me to whisper in my heart, "Amen!" 
Ah, tedious seemed the sermon, till again 
The music of that voice rose clear and strong, 
So full of fervor, "I am Wholly Thine," 

In that same church (oh, who would dare to guess!) 
One night in June, I heard that voice divine, 

In answer to the preacher, murmur, "Yes." 
He who had preached of "Love" proclaimed her mine, 

As there she stood by me in bridal dress. 

ON THE BRINK 

Hear the clink! 
Glasses, filled with ruddy wine. 
Drained in toasts to love divine; 
Pulses leap with kindled fire. 
Youth has met a new desire; 
Bacchus reigneth king! 
Unto him they sing — 

Hear the clink! 

As they drink. 
Honor bows his stately head. 
Virtue with corruption's wed; 
Men who write the Nation's laws. 
Flattered by the world's applause. 
Stand upon the brink. 
While the glasses clink, 
As they drink. 

49 



Hear the clink! 
Passion's slaves are busy there, 
Forging chains in Bacchus' lair; 
Link on link is hammered out, 
Measured by each maudlin shout; 
Clink the glasses sound, 
Clink the hammers bound, — 
Drink — link — clink. 

At the brink! 

Yawns the awful gulf below. 
Where the Stygian waters flow: 
Blackness of eternal night 
Hides the struggling souls from sight; 
With her sable pall, 
Death enshroudeth all 
At the brink. 



OLD YEAR, FAREWELL 

Ah, what a throng has gathered here tonight 

To witness once again 
The old familiar play! In glittering light 
Behold the actor! Then 

To see him pass from mortal view 
His arduous part well acted through. 

What though sweet music trills her gayest airs, 

A sadness somehow steals 
Upon the scene; to every one it bears 
A message that reveals 

How much we love the hoary head 
So soon to live but with the dead. 



50 



And we have seen him in such wondrous parts, 

And always excellent. 
How oft he's broken, healed, united hearts 
As though omnipotent. 

Aye, we have wept and laughed as one, ' 
Since our acquaintance was begun. 

Though loudly we applaud, till every wall 

Echoes the warm encore, 
He ne'er again will answer to the call 
As in the days of yore. 

Old Year, our hearts could better tell 
Our sadness than this word — farewell. 

Old friend, with all thy memories, good-by, 

How can we part from thee? 
Oh, through what scenes of joy and triumphs high 
You've borne us valiantly ! 

And through what acts of bitter woe — 
What loves we've buried 'neath the snow. 

You've been with us when solemn rites were paid 

And tender hopes seemed blighted ; 
When honors at our feet were thickly laid, 
And thousands gazed delighted. 
So, then, let's mingle joyous cheers 
And broken sighs and burning tears. 

The bell is tinkling, lifts the curtain now, 

And forth with stately mien 
He comes, a jeweled crown upon his brow, 
Befitting well the scene. 

Each look upon that time-worn face. 
Each gesture, speaks exquisite grace. 



51 



The final act ! Were ever hours so fleet ? 

He whispers the last line 
Just as the midnight bells a requiem beat. 
Lo! with a smile divine 

Over the features cold and proud 
New Year has softly spread the shroud. 



52 



ONE EVENING 

The silver shining moon one night, 

Smiled down out of a starry sky 
Upon two figures, half in light 

And half in shade of elm trees high. 

Upon the rustic bridge they stand. 

With elbows resting on the rail. 
One clasps in his the other's hand, 

The other's face turns slightly pale. 

"Ah, yes, tomorrow I must go." 

"So soon? I thought you'd three weeks more. 
"If you wish, then, it shall be so!" 

" 'Twould please us all if it were four." 

"If you were all, and I were aught 
To you — a little more than friend — 

Ah, then I'd bless my happy lot 

And make my stay without an end." 

"All things must end — you'd weary here — 
You'll soon forget in business care 

That we " One drew the other near, 

While moonlight lit a face most fair. 



53 



"Two months ago, on yonder beach, 
I met the fairest woman known 

To my poor heart, and she did teach 
Me then to love her as my own. 

"And here I ask, this starry night, 
The right to ever call you mine!" 

"Oh, sir, you have surprised me quite. 
Our meetings here have been divine ; 

But when you speak of marriage, sir, 
Why, Willie would be awful mad!" 

"Your husband, eh, I would infer? 
And — what would Phoebe say, egad?' 



THE EDITOR TO THE POET 

Dear poet, your lines I must beg to decline ; 
They are splendidly written, the thought is divine ; 
They remind me of Longfellow when in his prime ; 
You've worked out the rules as to rhythm and rhyme; 
But Tennyson, Holmes and Whittier, too. 
Belong to the past ; we must have something new. 
That appeals to the heart, like a sad "Tale of Woe," 
By our Field — he's a poet o' first water, you know. 

But Riley! ah, Riley! his dialect's the style; 

Sort of worked up oflE-hand, with the saw and the file; 

No meter, no rhythm, but strange how it takes ! 

The fame it has brought him, the money he makes ; 

Of course it is stuff, but it's quite all the rage ; 

So he sells it to papers by column or page. 

You see, my dear poet, to let your light shine, 

You should saw off some verses like old "Brandywine." 



54 



Then Stanton of Georgia is reeling off tunes 
'Bout "dose water millions" and fresh picayunes; 
The last of the lot is his "Lost at the Ball," 
Preferred by our readers to Tenn's Locksley Hall ; 
Why, Browning and Whitman, if writing today, 
Our Stanton'd decline as most surely passe ; 
So he writes what he knows that the public expects, 
And fills up his paper with rare dialects. 

The Yankees love slang, and a Yankee is Foss, 
And his poems of the farm all the farmers endorse ; 
Since Carleton won fame with his "Betsy and I" 
The poets have given farm ballads a try ; 
The compos all rave when such copy appears. 
And tired proofreaders get up on their ears; 
But then it sells papers, and that's quite enough ; 
Dear poet, there's money in writing such stuff. 



THE STORM 

I love the storm, the war of wind and rain, 
That sweeps majestically 'thwart the sky. 
While shelter-ward all living creatures fly ; 
Unto my heart the tempest's mad refrain 
Seems music passing sweet ; upon the main, 

Upon the land the storm-king's steeds rush by; 
Mountains of darkness tower far on high, 
While zig-zag lightnings cleave their peaks in twain, 
And chaos, black with terror, yawns before. 

Yet up above the storm, Divinity, 

Enthroned upon that peace-enchanted shore, 
Smiles down, and lo ! the storm's battalions flee ; 

"Be still !" the clash of elements is o'er. 
As when He calmed the waves of Galilee. 



55 



ONLY HER COUSIN 

"Yes, cool September's really here ; 

I feel new life in every vein ; 
I go with but a single fear — 

Lest we shall never meet again." 

Bewitchingly those violet eyes 

Their lashes drooped beneath his gaze; 
She whispered, "Under these same skies, 

One year from now, these same bright days." 

Unnoticed 'mid the jostling throng 
The final words were softly said ; 

"If life is spared — and yet how long!" 
He murmured, "We may both be dead. 

"Forgive such thoughts ; too sad it seems 
That friendship's ties, so incomplete. 

Must end — may end in summer dreams; 
It can not be we ne'er shall meet!" 

"Grieve not this final hour! Adieu! 

Throughout the coming dreary year 
My thoughts will backward turn to you. 

The boat is whistling at the pier." 

"Good-by, dear Mabel ; fare you well ; 

I would be left to linger more ; 
What's yet unsaid we then can tell ; 

Adieu! They're pushing from the shore!" 

"Now, Mabel !" said a voice most stern, 
"Engaged to me a month, and you 



56 



Are flirting as of yore, I learn." 

"Why, Dick ! you know I have been true. 

"Who is this handsome stranger, then? 

And why this chat upon the wharf?" 
"Why, he — he was — my cousin Ben, 

And I — came down to see him off!" 



MOUNT DESERT 

Was it the phantom of a dream — 
A flash of fancy's fitful gleam, 
Or did I with these wakeful eyes 
See angels bending from the skies, 
And lifting up the veil of mist 
From yon gray peak the sunrise kissed? 
Or were they nymphs of rosy morn 
Who bade the shades of night begone? 

Is not this isle upon our lee 

Some vision of a tropic sea ? 

While darkness walked the restless tide, 

Had not our vessel drifted wide, 

Till morning through her opening door 

Displayed this fair Elysian shore. 

An ocean gem, rock-bound, sea-girt. 

That spot renowned as Mount Desert? 

O mountain, grandly old and gray! 
These gales that 'round thee hoarsely play 
For ages have been thine alone ; 
Thy hidden caverns only known 
To beast and red man's stealthy tread ; 
Here in the green seas' shell-lined bed 
How long thou slept, till at thy feet 
The heart of Eden panting beat. 

57 



Sweet Pleasure breathes through spruce and pine ; 
Come, stranger, come, this realm is mine ! 
Come where the sea-gull swiftly flies. 
Come dream 'neath India's gorgeous skies! 
Waves never whispered half so sweet. 
Nor merry hours so passing fleet; 
Days come and go all summer long 
Like echoes of some wondrous song. 

BASTIGAN BROOK 

Were ever up in northern Maine ? 

There winds a road to Calais town ; 
A friendly guide you need retain — 

You'd best inquire for William Brown. 
He knows the woods from road to lake. 

Where yards the deer or hides the trout — 
Can lure the partridge from the brake, 

Or pull the lively salmon out. 

A jolly fellow's Brown ! His guest 

Can find no better! Square — no blow — 
He's knocked around, has herded West, 

Is "honest Injun" top to toe. 
Where is his farm ? On yonder hill, 

The finest in the Carroll range; 
Why, every farmer 'bout Lakeville 

Can point out Brown's this side the grange. 

Dropped in on Brown one day in June, 

And kissed his wife — we're cousins, see? 
"You're right in time for grub — it's noon; 

Fall in around the board," said he. 
At this command each seized a chair, 

While jokes and stories reigned supreme; 
We trained like kids at county fair. 

And Brown — he was a two-horse team. 

58 



"Suppose we try Bastigan Brook?" 

Said Brown. "Can you endure the tramp?" 
He asked me, with a quizzing look; 

"If legs should fail you, we can camp." 
"Agreed!" I laughed. He did not know 

That once a rougher road I trod — 
A road that led to Jericho — 

But then I had no fishing rod. 

Well said. Next morn, at rise of sun, 

Equipped with lunch and lines and bait, 
We steered for where the brook begun, 

Drawn by Brown's mare of nimble gait. 
We rode as far as Jones' farm, 

There left our rig and sallied out, 
To seek the brook — that sylvan charm — 

That held for us the speckled trout. 

We filed along a logging road. 

And reached a lumber camp at last — 
In winter time the rude abode 

Of hardy men whose lives are passed 
In toil among those solitudes. 

Right welcome is the stranger there. 
Where discontentment seldom broods. 

While aught they have they gladly share. 

But lonesome was the camp that day; 

A solitary porcupine 
We startled from his rest; away 

We turned, through bush and tangled vine. 
And hastened on, until the brook, 

'Mid forest, winding in and out. 
Before us lay, then cast the hook. 

And caught the finest speckled trout. 



59 



But flies, mosquitoes! Why, the air 

Was black — they covered every spot — 
Hands, face and neck, wherever bare. 

Till Brown observed, " 'Tis pretty hot!" 
(The cuss-word here I'll not repeat.) 

Lo! dangling from uplifted hook, 
A mammoth trout dropped at his feet, 

Then, swish ! into Bastigan Brook. 

So, on for miles, we fished and tramped. 

Till Brown remarked, "We have enough 
For breakfast, sure" and then he camped, 

Pulled out the lunch and said: "You're tough." 
In spite of flies, we ate and laughed, 

Then gathered up our traps and trout; 
A drink from Bastigan we quaffed, 

And wearily we plodded out. 

But home at last! The sun just down; 

Then bed — such sleep ! till breakfast call. 
The feast was spread. "It's done up Brown!" 

I laughed. "But you can't have it all," 
Said Brown, as 'gain he passed the dish. 

We joked, we ate, we praised the cook. 
Friend, would you take that tramp for fish? 

For trout ? Then try Bastigan Brook. 



60 



EAGLE LIGHT 

Midst the blossomless meadows of ocean, 

The broad, trackless prairie of green. 
Where the wavelets are cradled by zephyrs, 

And sea-nymphs dance over the scene. 
An island peeps up from the deep, 
Aroused from its mystical sleep ; — 
And oflF in the shadowy distance. 

For many an unmeasured mile. 
The sailor boy eagerly watches 

The light on this magical isle. 

Through the vistas of years all unnumbered. 

While the mermaids have chanted their psalm. 
And the tempests have raged or have slumbered, — • 

Through long, languid summers of calm, — 
When glittering tapers of night. 
From yonder bewildering height, 
Emblazon the halls of old ocean. 

Or shrink from the storm-clouds in flight, — 
Ever gleams, amid calm or commotion, 

A fixed, warning star, — Eagle Light. 



6i 



ON, FRATERNAL SOLDIERS 

On, fraternal soldiers ! 

Bear your banners high ; 
In the name of loved ones, 

"Forward!" be the cry. 
Toilsome though our journey, 

Struggle to the end; 
Muster in the army 

Stranger, neighbor, friend. 

Death is on our footsteps, 

He will vanquish all ; 
Hark! the direful summons. 

When our brothers fall. 
Peace attend the dying. 

Comfort the distressed; 
Our fraternal army 

Cares for the oppressed. 

Youthful dreams of riches 

Long since had their day; 
Sickness and misfortune 

Met us on the way. 
"Home, sweet home" 's the castle 

We must fight to keep ; 
Sound the stirring bugle. 

Rouse the boys from sleep. 

Pass along the watchword 1 

Shout the glad refrain! 
Marching up from Georgia 

'Mong the hills of Maine. 
Spread the joyful tidings 

Way across the land. 
From Atlantic westward. 

Till our country's spanned. 

62 



CHIDE HER NOT 

What! she's dead? 
Still and cold in death's embrace, 
Bloom of youth upon her face; 
Innocence reposing there 
Circled by the loosened hair, 
While the water drips 
From her parted lips — 

Is she dead? 

Sad, indeed! 
Why repeat the story old, 
Tempted by a villain bold? 
Home forsaken, love betrayed, 
From the path of virtue strayed ; 
Through the gates of sin 
Swiftly entered in — 

Mad, indeed ! 

Son of man — 
Monster of humanity ! 
Dost thou from this ruin flee? 
Reckon thou the awful cost 
Of a soul forever lost ? 
Trembling by her tomb 
Contemplate thy doom — 

Heaven's ban! 

Chide her not ! 
Lay her where the grasses wave, 
In her silent nameless grave; 
Leave her there in death's embrace, 
Bloom of youth upon her face ; 
Shield her mother's name 
From the breath of shame — 

Chide her not! 

63 



THE SHIP FRATERNITY 

As when the Mayflower turned her prow 

Away from England's royal shore, 
To seek some land where all might bow, 

Before the God they did adore ; 
So sailed the ship Fraternity 

Far out upon the vast unknown ; 
Through raging seas right valiantly 

She plowed her onward course alone. 

"Come back! come back!" loud rang the cry, 

But heeded not that gallant crew; 
They pointed to the pennon high — 

"Unto our faith we shall be true!" 
"Lost! Lost!" the head-lines of the press; 

Life-saving guards patrolled the shore, 
To wait the signal of distress. 

Amid the tempest's deafening roar. 

No signal gun invoked their aid, 

No wreckage drifted to the strand ; 
No forms in death's cold garb arrayed. 

And wonder spread throughout the land. 
Years rolled away, while ships set sail — 

Some never yet have gained their goal. 
But 'mid the billows and the gale 

Went down, nor saved a single soul. 

Night shadows flee, the morning breaks, 

The East flames bright with crimson light; 
Old ocean, smooth as mountain lakes. 

Bears on her bosom in full sight 
A bark with every sail widespread. 

Deep-freighted with humanity ; 
Triumphal flags from each mast-head 

Proclaim the ship Fraternity. 

64 



A PHANTOM 

Ay, from the cradle even to the grave, 
A phantom follows every human track; 
Although unseen it stallceth at our back. 

And thrills with fear when we most need be brave. 

It comes when brightest castles crumbling fall, 
At tender parting hours when lovers weep ; 
When youth awakes on manhood's dizzy steep, 

And from the homestead goes at fortune's call. 

'Tis with us always, and its dreaded name 

The last sad word that friend e'er speaks to friend. 
Of all that was, or is, the very end — 

The shroud that wraps affection, wealth and fame: 

Upon us from the cradle rests the spell. 

The presence of that phantom dread — Farewell. 



THE LOVERS' LEAP 

A Legend 

It is down mid the forests of Maine, 

Where Kenduskeag still flows thro' the hills, 
From the days when the Indian held reign. 

Whence cometh this legend that thrills 
The listener's heart. Long ago. 

When the settler first paddled this stream. 
Long 'ere the wide woods were laid low, 

Or the red man awoke from his dreams ; 



65 



Up circled the smoke to the sky 

From a wigwam where dwelt Raven Hair; 
Not a brave of the tribe but would die 

For the sake of this maiden most fair, — 
For the love of the chief's only child ; 

Though twenty brief summers had flown, 
On none of the band had she smiled, 

But to all her young heart was as stone. 

The chieftain oft grieved as he thought 

Of his daughter so cold and so proud, 
And entreated to better her lot, — 

Yield her heart and her hand to White Cloud ; 
But sadly she bowed the fair head, 

And firmly she answered him "nay" ; 
For "another she'd promised," she said. 

And she turned from her father away. 

"My daughter, what stranger has won 

The pride of thy father's brave band?" 
Proud the answer — "The settler — the son 

Of the paleface — the brave Iron Hand." 
The fierce warriors stole forth on that night 

To the vale where the villagers lay, — 
But swifter than they in her flight 

Raven Hair thro' the wood sped away. 

At his post her young lover she found. 

In a breath all their danger she told ; 
About her his strong arms he wound. 

And kissed the fair cheeks strangely cold : — 
"Iron Hand, for thy life thou must flee, 

There is war 'tween the red and the white; 
So risk not thy welfare for me — 

Forsake Raven Hair this sad night." 



66 



"Forsake thee, my own!" and his breath 

Fell hot on the dusky maid's cheek, 
"Not in life — but united in death," 

His husky voice choked nor could speak. 
"By death we escape the dire hate 

Of thy father and scorn of the white ; 
Yonder stream cannot tell of our fate, 

Shall we go to the hunting-grounds bright?" 

In answer her hand pressed his own. 

Together they sped toward the stream, 
Till they stood on the clifiE high and lone, 

Like a phantom — a vision — a dream ; 
But a moment two shadows as one 

Were darkly outlined on the sky. 
Then a leap through the air — it was done; 

'Twas the depth of their love e'en to die. 



AT MIDNIGHT 

At midnight, when the stars were bright, 

And silence wrapped the earth, 
An angel from the realms of light 

Brought tidings of a birth. 
The mother clasped her baby-boy. 

And at the break of dawn 
Celestial hosts proclaimed their joy, 

"Behold! a child is born!" 

'Twas Easter, and the lilies smiled 

As centuries ago ; 
They seemed to chant, "Thus undefiled 

Through life thy babe shall go." 
The Muses too a garland wove 

About the silken hair, 



67 



Of brightest buds of hope and love 
That he should ever wear. 

A memory of blissful dream, 

Of walks on summer days, 
Through fragrant grove, by singing stream, 

Along the country ways. 
How baby's eyes of peerless blue 

In wonder watched the sky. 
Or marked the birds that silent flew. 

Or brook that rippled by. 

At midnight, angels gathered by 

The pearly gates of rest. 
And welcomed home to courts on high 

Our babe among the blest. 
O mother, lift thy weeping eyes ! 

As on that Easter morn. 
The joyful song fills Paradise, 

"Behold! a child is born!" 

LOVE 

When one is worn and weary, and does sink 
Beneath his heavy burdens ; when the brain 
Is tired of all its constant aching pain. 
Whose lot so poor but that, upon the brink 
Of Time, where fancy's moonlight floods the tide, 
He can forget what hand and mind have wrought, 
And feel the heart to pulsate with one thought 
That paints a figure by the dreamer's side: — 
Behold a heaven-lit face, mild, beaming eyes, 
A Venus form, endowed with god-like grace. 
That nestles trustingly in Love's embrace. 
And lips half-parted with their fond replies ! 
Ah, Fame is but a hollow, empty thing 
When Love o'er such a kingdom crowns one king! 

68 



SAM TO THE GENERAL 

The General, meeting one of the boys who fought with 
him in the Rebellion, and requesting his vote at the next 
election, received the following reply: 

"Yes, gin'ral, once I'd see you through, 

I'd given this poor leg that I 
Have limped on twenty years — this too 

Without a whimper or a cry; 
I backed ye then through thick and thin. 

And proudly followed where you led. 
And it was glorious to win 

For that old flag right overhead. 

"Not one in that whole regiment 

But honored ye ; and dark times those — 
Those years of carnage we there spent, 

And how ye can forget — God knows! 
And, gin'ral, how ye've turned around. 

And over rebels take command — 
Who shot our boys — I'll — I'll be bound 

Is something I can't understand. 

"We've gone so far through peace and war, 

We both have helped uphold the flag. 
And never will I gee nor haw 

Out of these tracks; it sounds like brag 
I know; but, gin'ral, we must part 

Right here, your way's no longer mine, 
So I'll keep on as at the start 

When you led on our gallant line. 

"But when you bring the traitors on, 
And meet our boys square face to face, 



69 



Yer'll think of those war-days by-gone, 
And wish yer had the same old place ; 

Yer arm will palsy at yer side, 

When you must order 'shoot them down !' 

Yer heart will fail yer when you ride 

On Sergeant Smith and neighbor Brown. 

"Yer grand old record on the field 

Yer own hand smutched with treason's shame; 
You know our watch-word — 'die or yield' — 

And all our boys are always game; 
Am sorry, gin'ral, it is so, — 

My vote still goes for that old flag ; 
I've one leg left, and that might go 

With tother — I don't say 't to brag." 



INNOCENCE 

In this uncertain age, when conscience fails 
To spur men's hearts aright, and they who long 
Have worn the wreaths of truth, guiltless of wrong, 

Put off the robes of purity, assails 

Me then, dark skepticism in her cloak 

Of sombre doubt, and over manhood's dust 
I cry aloud, "O God, whom can we trust!" 

On my benighted heart a radiance broke. 

As if the Holy One had heard my cry : — 

Before me stood a child, with laughing eyes 
That borrowed seemed from summer's azure skies. 

And cheeks where roses bloom perpetually — 

Childhood and innocence revealed in one, 

My sunny-haired, my blue-eyed Marion. 



70 



A MOTHER'S BURDEN 

Faded is the bloom, they tell me, 

That once tinged my cheek so fair; 
Ah! but little would they wonder. 

Knew they what a cross I bear. — 
In my home an empty cradle. 

In my heart a sacred place ; 
Sacred to my angel baby — 

Baby's eyes and winsome grace. 

Down beside the old Penobscot 

Sleeps the idol of our life, 
While the music of its waters 

Gently stills the inward strife. 
Peace descends on heavenly pinions. 

Whispering words that thrill with joy, 
"Blessed are the little children," — 

Blessed, then, our darling boy ! 

As we mourn above the ashes 

Resting in this hallowed ground. 
Through the bitter, burning tear-drops, 

Is the bow of promise found. 
We behold him now transfigured 

In Elysian realms above. 
Singing with the white-robed chorus 

Of his sorrowing mother's love. 

By-and-by will come the summons 

Calling me beyond the tide, 
Just beyond the mystic river. 

To the mansions glorified ; 
Then these years will be forgotten 

In the years of endless bliss, — 
In the rapture of the meeting. 

In my baby's welcome kiss. 

71 



IN MEMORIAM 
F. A. P. 

O muse, if ne'er again thou'lt deign inspire 
My verse, stay now I pray this faltering pen, 

Endow these numbers with thy mystic fire. 
That they may honor him, a prince of men. 

As if great Jove, with his unerring hand, 

Straight from a cloudless sky had hurled his dart, 

So came the startling news across the land 

That death had stilled my friend's warm generous heart, 

Methought of her who bears his unstained name, 
His home's bright altar, idol of his life — 

O Jove, behold! thy deadly bolt of flame 
Consigns to living death a loving wife. 

Thus friendship, love, ambition's brightest dream 
At death's remorseless touch in ruins fall ; 

So on we drift down life's fair winding stream 
Compelled to yield our all at Charon's call. 

But yesterday, it seems, at Learning's shrine, 

As suppliants we humbly bent the knee. 
Interpreted her fables line by line. 

Or pondered long o'er some dark mystery. 

O happy were those by-gone school-boy years, 
Before gay youth knew aught of cankering care. 

Ere sorrow had dried up her fount of tears. 

When hearts were light and joy reigned everywhere. 



72 



Fair Exeter, my thoughts flow on from thee 

Where first our ties of friendship 'gan to blend, 

Unto the Valley of Yosemite 

For there the story of his life must end. 

How all the world seemed lying just before! 

How full of promise was the path he trod ! 
Let us lift up our hearts, for evermore 

He rests within the spirit-land of God. 



A MEMORY 

I would unclasp thy mystic lids to-day, 

wondrous book of Memory! 

And here, where it can never fade away, 
Will I enshrine most tenderly 
A joy, so radiantly bright. 
It seems a fickle dream of night. 

In fadeless colors I would paint the hour. 

So that, when many years have flown. 

And I am weary of life's pomp and power, 

1 can recall this joy alone. 

And then forget in fancy's play 
All save the mem'ry of to-day. 

How many leaves in life's romantic book 
Are darkly blurred with vain regret! 
How few the leaves on which we fondly look 
Where by-gone glories linger yet! 
Where all of earth and all above 
Seem whispering of a true, true love. 



73 



THE FASHIONABLE FLIRT 

She comes by boat, she comes by rail, 

Her hair is black as raven's wing, 
Her cheeks are dainty pink and pale. 

And she's a slender, fragile thing. 
Observe that languid, heavenly air! — 

Sort of "I need thee ev'ry hour," 
Or "I'll soon climb the golden stair," 

Or "cherish, love, this faded flower." 

She talks — she talks — she talks you blind 

About the countless loves she's had. 
Of midnight parties deeply wined. 

And how her lot in life is sad : 
"Such darlings of engagement rings. 

Such letters from dear Parson Hi, 
Brimful of tender, loving things — 

His wife don't know, or she would fly. 

"This morning Ned took me to row, 

This noon we dined at the "West End;" 
Then Dick is just the finest beau ; 

And such bouquets as they do send ! 
But, Hal, I really care for you. 

Although your wife I cannot be ; 
For, don't you see, it would not do — 

You're poor — to think of marrying me. 

"But I can love you just the same; 

For you I'll think, and weep, and pray; 
But marriage is a money game. 

And I must please my Auntie May. 
I'll write you every day or two; 

And now, dear Hal, don't feel so hurt — 
We can't be one, yet I'll be true. 

Although I've been an awful flirt." 

74 



THE NEWSBOY 

Journalism rules the world today, 
Nations read sensations of the hour ; 

Extras tell it all from grave to gay, 

Governments are bound v^^ithin its povi^er, 

But the force that moves the press 

Is the new^sboy numberless. 

Long before we scan the printed page, 
Newboys' cries have let the secret out ; 

Hustling, shouting, climbing car and stage. 
Blocking pathways, gathering all about, 

Till we're fiercely stirred to know 

If these things are really so. 

"All about the murder!" was the cry: 
Then a tiny humpbacked form I saw. 

"Murder! Where my lad? Is it a guy?" 
"Texas Bill was shot in Arkansas!" 

Laughed the imp in merry glee — 

Buy a paper, then you'll see!" 

"All about the robbery! Paper, sir? 

Robbery at City Hall ! Sun and Post!" 
"Ah, my boy, you're making quite a stir. 

Is it true? Which paper has the most?" 
"Sun for two cents, Post for one — 
Three cents tell you how 'twas done!" 

"Read about the earthquake!" rent the air — 
Morning when our local news was slim ; 

Busy newsboys roused a general scare, 

'Mong them on his crutch poor cripple Jim. 

"Earthquake! Where?" said I in doubt. 

"Read the Sun and find it out!" 



75 



"All about the terrible suicide!" 

"How he hung himself!" How papers sold! 
Lo! at foot of thirteenth page inside 

Was the startling story briefly told : 
Hardly worth two cents to know 
'Twas a thief in Mexico, 



APRIL 

We greet you, April, lightly tripping in, 
And list while you in silvery tones recite 
Your prologue, rosy from your rapid flight, 

Foretelling scenes that shall forthwith begin. 

The budding violet you gently hold 

In your fair-moulded hand, and your warm breath 
Awakes to life from its most seeming death 

The dandelion with its crown of gold. 

The mayflower opes its half-closed, drowsy eyes, 
And breaks in smiles to see your lovely face; 
Across the stage you flit with airy grace. 

While o'er you falls the sunshine of the skies ; 

You came o'er snowy hills and ice-bound streams, 

And lead us to the Paradise of Dreams. 



76 



"HAD I BUT KNOWN" 

A woman fair as eastern houries are, 

A man of lordly mien, 
In social circles she a reigning star. 

And he but seldom seen. 
Under the parlor gas-jet's glow 
Most solemn words have uttered low: 

"Miss Clairmont, our engagement of a year 

You wish to end to-night; 
These sacred ties you rend without a tear 

And hurl me from the height ; 
Thy hand that held my future's crown 
Now tears love's tattered ensign down. 

"O were my coffers not so poorly stored, 
My future better known ! 

were I not in fashion's halls ignored, 
You would become my own! 

For her, my queen, cast from her throne, 

1 weep, not for this self alone. 

"The love disdained — returned — I give to fame, 

I thank thee for the gift ; 
Vain fashion some day shall revere my name 

When time's gray curtains lift; 
Then thou shalt feel what thou hast lost, 
Shalt feel my pangs and count the lost. 

"A word now sets you from my bondage free, 

May others deal with you 
With greater mercy than you've dealt with me : — 

So for this life — adieu !" 
One moment paused he at the door, 
One look, then gone forevermore. 



77 



The years have flown, and where is she to-day 
Who once was fashion's queen? 

Ask that besotted wretch beside the way, 
Whose fortune's hollow sheen 

Now gilds a ruined tenement: 

And she — his wife — does she repent? 

Over a costly volume oft she dreams 

Of him who penned its lines; 
Ah, then she feels what she had lost, it seems, 

A name that world-wide shines; 
And oft she cries in heart-wrung tone — 
"Had I but known! had I but known!" 



GOOD-BY 

Again we've said good-by — only two friends. 

As friendship goes ; some merry hours we've spent 
In converse, and abruptly now it ends 

In memories with wit and wisdom blent. 
I'd call her more than friend, but it were vain ; 

The last time, maybe, we've stood face to face, — 
A mutual thought, for lo ! a shade of pain 

Suffused her lustrous eyes, and I could trace 
A tremor 'bout the clear-cut lips ; and when 

Her hand a moment brief reposed in mine, 
I felt that stronger ties than friendship then 

Around us had begun to intertwine. 
So oft o'er what might be we simply sigh. 

Close up our hearts, and calmly say "Good-by." 



78 



THE NEW STAR 

"Ah, there she comes! Yes, rather tall; 

As big as saucers are her eyes ; 
She's entering through this half-filled hall — 

Just hear the people criticise! 
'Tis eight; she will at once appear, 

This is the 'program' — tragic too! 
'Sandalphon' for this audience here, — 

Why we shall die before she's through. 

"These stage-struck, gifted, country girls, 

Who register 'from Boston town;' 
Whose art is all in flying curls. 

Have but to bow and win renown. 
Poor 'Marie Stuart!' could she know 

How oft her tragic life is told, 
Would rend her wintry shroud of snow 

And quell these stars in tones of old. 

"Do hear selection Number One! 

How coarse and masculine the tone ; 
Her 'cultured voice' is quite a pun ! 

Professor E. says 'that alone 
Her wondrous talent must decide,' 

(Not to her credit I'll allow), — 
'Maclaine' and all the rest have died — 

She's ready for the bouquets now ! 

"She calls it 'mental food' you know; 

She caters 'to philosophers' ; 
They so detest a 'humorous show' — 

"To scholars and the ministers,' — 
Because they never dare to smile; 

And hence 'twere wicked, gross and wrong, 



79 



With hearty laughter to beguile 

An hour that's been so wretched long. 

"She will not 'stoop to conquer' — no! 

She will not read one humorous line, 
Nor 'deign to reach by means so low,' — 

In frigid glory she must shine. 
A Janausheck, an Anderson, 

Her towering ideals great and grand ; 
Hence name immortal must be won 

Through daggers and a bloody hand !" 



I PLEDGE TO THEE FOREVER 
(Song.) 

"When evening stars are merry twinkling, 

And all the world has gone to rest. 
Beside the breaking waves I wander 

With her, the maiden I love best. 
While billows roll, fond vows we're plighting; 

So, hand in hand, 'neath starry skies. 
In silent glory, I told my story 

And pledged a love that never dies. 

"When yonder stars shall cease to twinkle," 

Came low her answer in tender tone, 
"When ocean's waves no more are breaking — " 

Her eyes with love's deep passion shone. 
"Till then my vows will live unbroken, 

I pledge forever my love for you ; 
Till yonder stars shall cease to twinkle, 

I pledge forever I will be true." 



80 



I pledge to thee forever, 

That I will love thee ever ! 
My heart shall e'er be thine 

While evening stars shall shine. 
Ah, death alone can sever, 

This pledge I make forever — 
While evening stars shall shine 

My heart is vv^hoUy thine. 

A SYLVAN SCENE 

October days were drawing near, 

Like glimpses of a fairy land ; 
The brightest days in all the year, 

The harvest time from strand to strand. 
One afternoon, afar from town. 

Through woods bespangled gold and red, 
One looking off, the other down. 

Two figures strolled with careless tread. 

"How like a scene from Paradise!" 

The maiden murmured dreamily: 
"O'erhead, the cloud-flecked azure sky—" 

"Beneath," he finished, "you and I," 
Ah, merrily she laughed: "Now, Will, 

You've spoiled the figure of my speech!" 
"Not all is lost; methinks that still 

The figure stands within my reach." 

"Why, Will, you've made a paradox 

Of figures." "And a Paradise 
Of life," said Will, "for when one talks 

Of pictures, where the woods and skies 
Make up the whole ; where ne'er was seen 

That fairest type of human kind. 
The Southland's graceful maid, I ween 

That such a man is strangely blind. 



"Viola, though I've not expressed, 

Since we have met, one-half I've thought, 
The truth you surely must have guessed." 

Still looking down, she answered not. 
He drew her close, "Viola, mine, 

You'll not o'erthrow my dream of bliss?" 
Than whispered word far more divine 

The red lips' answer was a kiss. 



AT THE GRAVE 

Where the hillside meets the waters 

Dashing o'er the hidden rocks, 
How the mellow, rippling music 

Yon sad mourner's sorrow mocks; 
There where oriental odors 

Freight the languid summer air, 
There beside the singing river, 

Bows a figure young and fair. 

Sweet this spot, this realm so silent. 

Mounded hamlet of the dead ; 
Pine and spruce and graceful hemlock 

Spread protecting arms o'erhead. 
Offering up their mingled fragrance 

Like rare incense to the sky, 
Laying 'round a veil of shadow 

O'er the figure kneeling by. 

Were it miscalled Desolation, 
Spot whose robe of living green 

Bitter, heart-wrung tears have watered, 
Where each slab tells some sad scene? 



82 



See! upon the mound the mourner 
Wrapped in sable raiment kneels, 

And a hand that's decked with jewels 
Wipes the tear that downward steals. 

Warmly fell the July sunlight 

On a face of fairest mould, 
Till her tears were liquid diamonds 

And her hair bright threads of gold ; 
Yet no less unmoved, unconscious. 

Was her heart than yon white stone,- 
Felt no more surrounding beauties 

Than the form whose life had flown. 



We may dwell in marble palace, 

Or in Labor's humblest cot ; 
Fame may fling to us her baubles, 

Or we live unknown, unsought ; 
How these vanities do mock us 

When we bow beside the mound, 
And the all of life is hidden 

In that emerald-covered ground. 



83 



A TRIBUTE TO GRANT 

When treason born in Southern ambuscades, 

In darkiiess grew a thing of monstrous size, 
And on the North had fixed its hideous eyes, 

Coiling its deadly folds in Richmond's glades, 
Columbia shrank in nameless, fearful, dread, 

Crying for aid ; a host of valiant men, 
In arms displayed their patriotism then, 

And unto victory by Grant were led. 
The years sped on ; that hero stood again, 

With iron courage as in days of yore, 
Face to a foe more deadly than before, — 

More to be feared than ranks of hostile men ; 
But strove in vain, the Union's brave defender, — 

Death's call was, "unconditional surrender." 



HAPPINESS 

The secret of true happiness in living 
Is not in hoarding dollars, but in giving. 

God save the millionaire, his turkey carving, 
While thousands of his fellow men are starving. 

God save the woman, silks and diamonds wearing. 
While thousands of her sisters are despairing; 

Oppression still fills all the land with sorrow, 
But wealth and poverty change place to-morrow. 

So on the stage of life the scenes are shifting. 

For some the dawn is breaking, clouds are lifting. 

Christ's golden rule shall surely win compliance 
Till all the nations join in one alliance. 



84 



HER LETTER 

Dear Dellie: forgive my neglect, 

Though my letters to you have been few; 
Don't let it impair your respect 

For a friend who's been faithful to you; 
The cause I will try to explain, 

And when its details you have heard, 
I know you will gladly refrain 

From speaking a single hard word. 

We have met at Bar Harbor again, — 

Fair city beside the wide sea! 
He is truly a king among men, 

And oh ! so attentive to me ; 
Our belles have tried ev'ry device 

To break his inconquerable heart, 
But I am now throwing the dice. 

And hurling bright Cupid's winged dart. 

My papa's estates have run low. 

And are heavily mortgaged beside; 
So I hardly will dare to say "no" 

When he asks me to be his own bride, — 
Our residence too will be grand, 

For they say he has treasures of gold 
For which I surrender my hand, 

But my heart will never be sold. 

You may think that I've strangely grown cold, 

Yet I'll never forget one pale face — 
Those features of exquisite mould, 

And form of such dignified grace. 
His genius will some day win fame, 

That he loved me he'll some day forget; 
But time cannot smother the flame 

That glows in my heart for him yet. 

85 



DELLIE MEETS LUCRETIA 

"Lucretia, my dear, is it you ? 

Returned from Bar Harbor at last! 
Was that letter you wrote me quite true? 

Come tell me the whole that has passed : 
The roses still bloom on your cheek, 

Though little I thought they'd be there — 
Now, Cretia, don't laugh at me, — speak! 

And show me the ring that you wear." 

"Here Dellie, 's the ring; 'twill explain 

The silence of months that are gone — 
The dread, and the heart-breaking pain — 

The darkness preceding the dawn. 
You wonder why I am so gay. 

Betrothed to a man whom I hate. 
When love might have brightened the way 

And saved me this terrible fate. 

"The letter I wrote you was so. 

For when I'd refused poor dear John 
'Cause his station in life was too low, 

The joy of my future was gone. 
Kind fortune lent papa her aid. 

The estates we can still call our own ; 
So — I had no occasion to trade 

My hand for his treasures alone." 

"Why, Cre! do you mean that this beau. 

Of such wonderful sea-side renown. 
Was answered by you with a 'no' 

When you might have reigned queen of the town? 
Then whose is this glittering ring?" 

"Dear Del, for the rest of my life 
The old story of love I shall sing, — 

I'm now — my own John's promised wife." 
86 



MY DOG KING 

I found one night, returning late, 

A poor starved thing crouched at my gate, 

A creature cursed and cuffed by Fate, 

At my gate. 
Compassion, or — at any rate. 
Some feeling kindlier than hate, 
Gave shelter and the food he ate — 

Ah, not hate ! 

Long years ago! that homeless thing 
Has shared my home ; I call him King, 
And tender memories still cling 

Round my King. 
Of grander themes let others sing, 
But nothing can to conscience bring 
The peace of aiding some poor thing 

As was King. 

Small deeds of mercy surely pay ; 
Bright cobble stones that pave the way 
To portals of that "brighter day," — 

Pave the way. 
King's gratitude he shows each day ; 
He licks my hand and seems to say, 
^'FU love thee, master, while I stay, — 

While I stay." 

These years he's guarded yonder door, 
And will, we hope, for many more. 
Within the sunlight streaming o'er 

At the door. 
King's eyes, so lustrous bright of yore. 
Have dimmed with age, and that dark shore 



87 



Dividing us, lies just before, — 
Just before. 

I'm old and gray; you understand, 

My dumb friend King, and kiss my hand, 

As by your side I feebly stand, — 

Master's hand. 
Some day, old fellow, from the land 
These summer zephyrs will have fanned 
My spirit over — understand? — 

From the land. 

Your eyes with sadness seem to fill! 
Alone here in the sunshine still. 
You'll wait my coming up the hill, 

From the mill. 
You'll never see me come until — 
Ah, well ! no master ever will 
The place I leave exactly fill — 

Vacant still ! 



IrJQ. 



IN DE DREAMLAND 
A Pickaninny Lullaby. 

Away to bed, yo' sleepy head, 

Pickaninny's big black eyes am closin' ; 
Ma's curly head — away to bed — 

Dar ole mammy's chile will soon be 'posin'. 
Now kiss yo' ma, now kiss yo' pa. 

Right in mammy's arms yo' will be clinging' ; 
Den like a star, away so far 

In de dreamland while ole mammy's singin'. 

So close yo' eyes! Hush baby Lizel 

You'se yo' mammy's glory in de mornin', 
Oh, Shoo de flies! Now close yo' eyes. 

Crickets will be singin' till de dawnin' ; 
Den soft and low, de ole banjo. 

While de white folks yonder am a sleepin', 
De ole banjo, — de songs yo' know, — 

In de cullad quarters late hours keepin'. 

Sleep on my little pickaninny, 

Yo' mammy watches nigh ; 
Crickets in de cornfield am a singin', — 

Yo' mammy's sittin' by. 
Sleep on until de light am breakin' 

An' shadows leave de sky ; 
So close yo' eyes! Yo' mamm.y's nigh! 

Now hush-a-by! My baby by. 



89 



THE TRANSITORY 

The world is changing constantly, 

The brilliant day is lost in night, 

The seasons pass in rapid flight. 
The storm awakes the tranquil sea ; 

What wonder strange 

That hearts should change. 

Is Change not then a bright coquette 

In spangles, tinsel, glittering gold? 

Disguised in garb so manifold 
That we admiring do forget 

The mystic art 

That hides her heart. 

To-day Love's hand in yours reposes ; 

Her eyes are bright with tender light, 

Like stars first twinkling into sight ; 
And all the way Is strown with roses, 

But were it strange 

That Love should change? 

Philosophizing thus 'tis plain 

How those sweet lips that murmured "y^s," 

And those blue eyes that beamed to bless, 
Could also speak and look disdain ; 

Ah, 'tis not strange 

That Love does change. 

So fleeting, changing is this life ! 

While hearts beat high. Love's passion fades ; 

Fame seemeth near, our clutch evades; 
Hope turns to ashes — all is strife! 

How transitory' 

The dream of glory! 



90 



THIRTY YEARS AGO 

Thirty years ago to-day ! 
My ! how time has slipped away ! 
I recall your laughing eyes 
Matching well the summer skies; 
Blushing cheeks, and bridal dress; 
And the minister to bless. 
I can scarce believe 'tis so — 
Thirty years ago ! 

And I ask, as I look back 
O'er the long, time-beaten track, 
Would you now, as you did then, 
Answer "Yes" and start again? 
Knowing all, doth sad regret 
Chide the hour when first we met? 
Would you, knowing, have said "No," 
Thirty years ago ? 

Mem'ries of those fleeting years 
Full of mingled joys and tears; 
Tears for one who crossed the bar 
Bright to us as evening's star; 
Hearts rejoiced by little hands 
Sent from Heaven's golden strands; — 
These are things we did not know 
Thirty years ago. 

Love hath burned away our tears. 
Sent a rainbow through the years, 
So that, looking down the stream. 
Like some half-remembered dream, 
Cometh back those by-gone hours, 
Wedding chimes and bridal flowers, — 
Do you wish you had said "No," 
Thirty years ago? 

91 



QUEEN OF ARAGON 

(Farewell to Annie Clarke, of Boston -Museum dramatic 
fame.) 

When "Knighthood Was in Flower" held the stage, 
And 'mong the players Annie was the queen. 

Attended by gay courtiers, knights and page, 
And villagers who thronged upon the green. 

And as she spake her lines with charming grace, 

Fond memories of old museum days 
Came trooping back, and Annie's youthful face, — 

Ah, who can e'er forget those olden plays! 

Our idol in a multitude of parts. 

Each character but added to her fame. 

And won a place within ten thousand hearts. 
Where histrionic honors wreathe her name. 

Fair Queen of Aragon! thy jeweled crown 
And robe of ermine thou shalt wear no more ; 

The scepter of thy power has been laid down 
With all thy royal gifts we did adore. 

The closing line is spok'n, the curtain falls ; 

She ne'er again will hear the wild applause, 
Nor smiling answer to the warm recalls 

As Juliet, or Portia of the Laws. 

We scan the mimic heavens, near and far, 
Recall the constellations past and gone ; 

But bright among them all the shining star 
Of Annie Clarke, fair Queen of Aragon. 



92 



THANKSGIVING SONG 

Tune: America. 

Again the story tell 
Of Independence Bell 

And Freedom's birth! 
How love of liberty 
Bore men across the sea 
That they might worship Thee, 

Savior of earth. 

In fear and trembling came, 
But guided by Thy name, 

A flag unfurled ; 

A banner bright and new, 
The red, the white, the blue; 
But what that flag can do 

Amazed the world. 

All o'er our favored land, 
With peace and plenty spanned, 

Praise Him most high! 
As years do speed away, 
On each Thanksgiving Day 
Let all our people pray — 

Praise Him most high! 

"God's will, not mine, be done," 
Should make all nations one 

In bonds of love; 
Let War's grim horrors end, 
Good will and peace attend. 
And blessings will descend 

From Him above. 



93 



CHRISTMASTIDE 

Some who were nearest, 
Some who were dearest, 

Bridegroom and bride. 
Heard the fond greeting, 
Loved ones repeating. 

Last Christmastide. 

Someone has sadness. 
Marring all gladness, 
Far from our side ; 
Some are heartbroken. 
Sorrow unspoken, 
This Christmastide. 

Someone is sleeping. 
Stars vigils keeping. 

Bridegroom or bride — 
Father or mother — 
Maybe another, 

This Christmastide. 

Bury our sorrow, 
Merry the morrow, 

Fling portals wide! 
Hang high the holly. 
Giving makes jolly. 

Dear Christmastide. 



94 



NOV 7 1904 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

015 909 982 9 fc^J 



